


Redefining Minnesota Nice

by ProfessorFrankly



Series: Evil Author Day 2019 [2]
Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-27 14:02:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17768147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorFrankly/pseuds/ProfessorFrankly
Summary: AU set in a present day where the magic and peoples of Tolkien’s world have emigrated to the United States. The hobbits, of course, settled in the upper Midwest. Disgraced scholar Bilbo Baggins leaves his tea shop to help investigate a dragon sighting in Minnesota’s Iron Range.





	Redefining Minnesota Nice

**Author's Note:**

> This work was started for a Rough Trade challenge that was about urban fantasy. I was unable to complete it because I got stupidly busy. I like the concept, though, so I might come back to it. As with all Evil Author Day works, this one may never be complete.

Bilbo Baggins stirred his tea, slowly, waiting for the last batch of cinnamon scones to finish baking. The shop opened at 6 a.m., and from long experience, Bilbo knew he’d be on his feet from open until at least 10 a.m., when his second shop assistant for the day arrived for the middle shift.

His first shop assistant, cousin-by-marriage Primula Baggins, would arrive just as the first customers would, promptly at 6, for their morning pastry and tea.

Bilbo took a sip. The other pastries were attractively arranged in the case or tucked into trays behind the counter, ready for distribution. The hot water reservoir sat at the perfect temperature for steeping any of his wide varieties of tea. Plates, cups and cutlery, all polished to a shine, awaited in their places. Cheerful blue-checked cloths adorned the small, round tables along the front window, each straightened to lie in soft pleats to the floor, and buttressed by black-wire-frame chairs with matching, cushioned seats.  

One, larger table, with seating for 12, took pride of place in the center of the room, and it had been lain with a pale yellow, cheerful linen cloth. A large basket of pastries sat in its center; two massive, white porcelain pots rested on either side of basket, waiting for water. The colors invoked summer; on a cold February Tuesday, yellow seemed just the thing.

_ Tuesdays _ , Bilbo signed, internally.  _ Gossip-mongering day _ . He snorted. 

On Tuesdays, a circle of extended family arrived  _ en masse _ just as he opened for tea, pastries, and gossip under the guise of the weekly book club. The book never changed. They’d started with  _ Eat, Pray, Love _ , and somehow had never gotten beyond page one. However, varied and sundry folks discussed the ins and outs of clan activities with impunity. 

Winter in New Ulm, Minnesota, could be bleak. Some tea, scones and gossip seemed to cheer everyone right up. The book provided a convenient excuse.

The shrill alarm of the oven timer went off in the back, and Bilbo heaved himself up to pull the scones out of the oven and slide the backing sheets into the rolling cooling rack. This morning’s pastries included chocolate croissants, raspberry cream-cheese muffins, the scones, and varied bismarcks, the jelly-filled raised-doughnuts sought by his human neighbors. His mother, Belladonna Took Baggins, had traded her secret sour cream cake recipe for the directions for that one when they’d arrived from the Shire, before Bilbo had been born.

He’d swap them out for  _ ableskiver _ on Wednesday, Bilbo decided. Just for a change of pace. Round, puffy pancakes, fried in butter and dusted in powdered sugar, might be just the thing for the Wednesday breakfast crowd.

Bilbo bustled around his commercial kitchen, pausing only to open the back door for Primula, who came in bearing a carton full of books.

“New ones, Bilbo!” Primula sang out cheerfully. “I raided the thrift sales over the weekend. Shall I stock the shelves?”

“Of course, of course,” Bilbo assured her. He kept a small lending library in big bookcases on either side of his front door. Customers and friends brought books, took books, exchanged books, and generally enjoyed books. Even  _ Eat, Pray, Love. _ “We’ve got just ten minutes before the horde descends this morning.”

“And I saw Lobelia in her SUV this morning, crawling through the snow,” Primula said cheekily. “It looks like she’ll be joining us today.”

Bilbo scowled. “If she says one more thing about my ‘squandering my inheritance’ with a worthless tea shop--”

“Not to worry, Bilbo,” Primula interrupted, sliding another book on an empty shelf with a small thunk. “I’ve good gossip today. And I’ll offer it up if I need to.”

“How does she manage to drive that big monstrosity, anyway?” Bilbo mumbled. “She pinches too many pennies to have it properly maintained for accessibility.”

“I believe she uses old telephone books,” Primula said solemnly, a twinkle in her eye. “Bound to both feet. And stacked under her bottom. And perhaps a yardstick, just at the right place for acceleration.”

“She’ll be lucky not to end up in the river,” Bilbo grumbled. “And good gossip? Really? Care to share?”

“Ah, but I’ll be waiting until the right moment, Cousin,” Primula said. She shelved the last of her thrift sale finds and stood up, dusting her hands off on her winter coat. “Let me get this off and my hands washed, and I’ll start getting the tea ready.”

.

The clan arrived on the dot of 6, filtering in with many a hearty “Hello” and “Is it cold enough for ya?” greetings. The Tooks, Sackville-Baggins, Merrythoughts and Brandybucks juggled around the cheerful table, each dutifully bringing out their copies of  _ Eat, Pray, Love _ and laying them to the side before reaching out for perfectly steeped English Breakfast Tea and a pastry each.

Primula served the table this morning, while Bilbo took his turn at the counter for the morning “quick-stop-and-run-to-work” crowd, mainly made up of men and women who worked up at the brewery and needed to make their 7 a.m. shift. 

The Hobbits who lived in the area generally worked for themselves, and could set their own hours, but generally agreed that Bilbo’s pastries were best enjoyed fresh out of the oven in the morning, and that a good gossip would set them up for the day.

“Did you hear?” Theodora Merrythought started off the day’s round of gossip. “Galatea Brandybuck made full professor at Minnesota State!”

General congratulations and good wishes flashed around the group in a mass of “How wonderful!” and “Knew she’d do well” mumbles. 

“Perhaps she can settle in and have a family now,” Lobelia said primly. “It’s high time she set aside those books.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes behind the counter. 

“Well, now, Lobelia,” Gerry Took countered soothingly, “not every Hobbit wants a family, of course. And Gal’s work is important! She’s giving us all good information about how we can make new crops work in this prairie soil. All good and sciencey, of course.”

Lobelia snorted. “At least that’s useful.” She raised her voice. “Unlike some work that’s fit only for make-believe.”

“More tea, Lobelia?” Primula swooped in with the pot, and poured another round, neatly diverting attention from Bilbo’s quick flush of temper.

Lobelia, however, could not be deterred. “At least she’s not studying some make-believe creature that will never actually darken the door here. That’s the kind of study that’ll keep a scholar from getting tenure!”

Bilbo set a fresh basket of pastries down with a snap. “More scones?” 

Gerry smiled brightly. “Don’t mind if I do, lad, don’t mind if I do. Are these cinnamon?”

“And then,” Lobelia slyly raised her voice to a more shrill tone, “they’ll be stuck running a tea shop!”

“And that’s my cue,” Bilbo said, rolling up his sleeves and advancing on Lobelia. Primula stepped in front of him quickly and shouted, “I’m pregnant!”

New babies trumped old news about disgraced scholars, and to a general round of congratulations and “girl-or-boy” discussion, Bilbo retreated to his kitchen.

.

It wasn’t as if Lobelia was wrong, precisely, Bilbo thought to himself. He had been denied tenure, but it was because he didn’t have enough publications to his credit. Really, he’d been buried in his books and research, and he’d not paid enough attention to getting his research published. 

And he may or may not have thrown a fit at a public meeting about the subject.

And perhaps he might have called his department chair an arrogant ass.

And it’s just possible that he wasn’t very good at offering evidence to back his strong position that his chosen subject actually existed. They’d been discussed as myths and legends for centuries, after all. As an anthropologist, Bilbo was required to look at the fossil records as much as the texts that told him his research subject existed. None yet had yielded the evidence he required to back his assertion.

But Bilbo was dead certain:

Dragons lived.

.

To prevent himself from acting inappropriately (fisticuffs, he’s been told, are not at all the thing to do), Bilbo started the soups for the lunch crowd early and began work on the afternoon sweets and tea sandwiches. 

He liked cooking. 

He liked tea, darn it.

And there was nothing at all wrong with running a tea shop. Especially if one happened to own said tea shop, free and clear. 

Bilbo scooped out fresh roasted butternut squash from its hulls, adding it to the onions and bay he was sauteeing in butter. He’d have a roasted butternut squash soup today, the usual savory filled buns, and a chicken-and-wild-rice hot dish as the special. 

Time faded away as he pre-assembled lunch items and set them up in racks for the lunch crowd to take-away. Leftovers, at the end of the day, went to the homeless shelter at the edge of town. Bilbo always made sure to make extra during the day so that there was plenty. 

He liked feeding people, too. And in his firm opinion, no one should go hungry if there was a way to prevent it. He often made a second pot of soup at the end of the day, just to take over.

And no, Lobelia, he wasn’t squandering his inheritance or wasting his time running the tea shop, thank you very much.

Perhaps studying dragons hadn’t been his best choice as a scholar, but it was what satisfied him. He’d been fascinated with the mythical creatures since childhood, sure they existed somewhere. The myths and legends of dragonkind were, after all, well-documented. What fewer could accept was the idea that they hadn’t gone extinct, as supposed.

Bilbo admitted that the fossil records and other documentation he’d been able to dig up was inconclusive. But he knew, in his own bones, that dragons lived somewhere.

He’d seen them. In dreams. 

Primula interrupted his musings but poking her head around the door frame from the front. “They’ve gone, Bilbo.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he replied absently. “Need any help out front?”

“Not right now. We’ve done a brisk pre-work trade this morning, I’d say, but we’ve still some pastry stock and I’ve just topped off the hot water tank,” she reported. “Just two customers at the front window having a gossip now. Oh, and it looks like Gandalf is on his way in. Just spotted him across the street.”

“Come to take up an entire table to himself and take advantage of my free wi-fi, no doubt,” Bilbo grumbled.

Primula grinned. “You know you’d miss your chats.”

“True,” Bilbo conceded. They heard his bell ring in the front. “Let me get this hot dish in the oven and I’ll be free to come out for a minute if you’d like a break. Get off your feet, give your body a rest. And, thank you, by the way, for dropping that tidbit just at the right moment!”

“Of course, Cousin,” Primula batted her lashes coyly. “And just so you know, Drogo and I have decided you’re to be this child’s godfather and honorary Uncle. You’ve no choice in the matter, at any rate.”

“Well, then,” Bilbo slid the enormous pan of chicken and wild rice into the main oven and closed the door. “That’s that.”

They went out to the front, Bilbo to bus tables and Primula to set up Gandalf with his pastry and pot of tea (peach ginseng). Gandalf did, indeed, take up an entire table in the front window and set up his laptop before pouring his first cup of tea. 

“Bilbo, old friend!” Gandalf greeted him heartily as Bilbo popped over to the adjacent table to remove dishes and straighten the cloth. 

“Gandalf,” Bilbo acknowledged. “What news from wizard folk today?”

“Nothing new, nothing new,” Gandalf assured him. “Just working on my reports this morning. Saruman’s set up a new system for keeping track of our magical output and varied deeds. I do believe he’d like to see whether we’re being cost-effective in our approaches to helping those in our districts.”

Each wizard that reported to the White Council covered a specific geographic territory; Gandalf was in charge of Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa, Illinois, and the Dakotas.

“Ah, paperwork.” Bilbo poured himself a cup of tea from Gandalf’s pot and sat down with him for a minute. “The bane of all existence.”

“True enough,” Gandalf chuckled. “And what’s new here today?”

“Primula’s expecting,” Bilbo said with a smile. “And the book club is still on  _ Eat, Pray _ ,  _ Love. _ I’m thinking about replacing their copies with  _ Twilight _ the next time they come in, to see if it makes a difference.”

Gandalf laughed. “I’d be glad to help you with that prank, Bilbo.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Bilbo saluted Gandalf with his cup. The gesture was returned, and they drank up.

A beep from Gandalf’s smart phone caught his attention. The wizard pulled out the phone and checked. “Oh, dear.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“It’s Saruman,” Gandalf said, quickly logging on to his laptop and scrolling to KSTP-TV out of Minneapolis. “Breaking news of a magical nature.”

“Really?” Bilbo leaned across to look at the screen with him. “What’s up?”

_ This is Wendy Richards with KSTP, with breaking news from the Iron Range. Several sources report that a dragon has been spotted in the Iron Range. We have a team on its way to Two Harbors, where multiple sources have reported seeing what appears to be a dragon flying overhead. One source sent us this video: _

Bilbo watched, fascinated, as what appeared to be a red-and-gold dragon flew directly over someone’s frozen dock, scales rippling in the bright, cold, February sun. 

_ We are tracking the dragon’s movements as it heads deeper into the Iron Range. We’ll continue to bring you news and updates as they happen. _

Dumbfounded, Bilbo sat back.

“Well, Bilbo,” Gandalf said, eyes twinkling. “It looks as though you have a prime opportunity here.”

“For what?” he asked quietly, pondering the image of the dragon.

“To say, ‘I told you so!’”

 

_... _

_ Sources tell KSTP that the dragon seems to be making a direct line for Mountain Iron, Virginia, or Eveleth. These three communities collectively contain the workforce for Erebor, Inc., the taconite processing facility located in Mountain Iron. The dragon was spotted over the Superior National Forest heading that direction just minutes ago … _

 

“Well, Bilbo, old friend,” Gandalf said gruffly, checking his texts. “It looks like we need your expertise on this one. Many of my order are long-lived, but none of us remembers living dragons. And I have to say, our lore is somewhat disorganized in the White Council’s library.”

Bilbo opened his mouth, closed it, and heaved a deep sigh. “I’m sure I’m not the only expert on dragons available, Gandalf. I could put you in touch with Dr. Ugland at the University of Wisconsin --”

“Ah, Bilbo,” Gandalf interrupted. “I’m well aware your previous colleagues, in their zealous affirmation of their rightness, failed to do the research you have done to support your theory that dragons didn’t simply fade out of existence. As such, it makes much more sense for me to use your expertise, as you, in fact, were right.”

“I’ve no credentials, though,” Bilbo fussed. “I’m simply a tea-shop owner at this point, Gandalf.”

“A tea-shop owner with three doctorates, Bilbo,” Gandalf reminded him. “Anthropology, literature, and zoology, if I remember correctly.”

“Well, yes, but--”

“And dissertations on dragon lore, dragon mythology, dragon fossil sites, and dragon biology, if I do recall.”

“Well, yes, but--”

“Bilbo, old friend, face it: You are who we need at the moment to tell us about this creature’s motivations at this point.” Gandalf leaned forward and fixed Bilbo with his most sincere, wizardy glare. “Saruman has already tasked me with heading north. I’d very much like you to accompany me.”

Bilbo blew out a breath. “But the shop--”

“I’m certain Primula can manage the shop,” Gandalf said firmly, and raised his voice. “Can’t you, my dear?” 

“Of course, Gandalf,” Primula agreed as she came through to the front room. “Heard it on the radio in the back. Bilbo, you’ve got to go. I’ll get Ella in to help with the baking and cooking for a few days. We’ll be fine.”

“It seems I’ve little choice,” Bilbo said grumpily. He stood abruptly. “Fine, then. I’ll get my things together. But I’ll be wanting a consulting fee, Gandalf. And none of those magical contraptions, either. We’ll fly. Or take the bus. Or drive.”

“Whatever you say, dear man,” Gandalf leaned back and turned to his laptop. “I’ll book us something to Duluth right away, and we’ll go from there once we know where the dragon is settling.”

“Fine.” Bilbo started for the back, and the stairs up to his loft apartment. “I’ll see if I can’t find my CuddleDuds. They’re much more comfortable than long underwear.”

“Don’t forget your boots!” Gandalf admonished absently.

An hour later, duffle packed with appropriate gear and armed with his personal journal, Bilbo stepped out into the bright February cold and headed to the waiting rental car. Gandalf had chosen a nice four-door blue sedan, with automatic Hobbit modifications available in case Bilbo wanted to drive, and, Bilbo was pleased to see, a roomy trunk for all of his things. 

They got his bag loaded up, and Primula hurried out with two travel mugs. “Black tea,” she said, handing them over. “Milk and sugar for energy. One moment.” She hurried back in and out. “I’ve got a big thermos of the squash soup here, too, Bilbo, and some savory buns. For the road.”

“Thank you, Prim,” Bilbo said, hugging her tightly. “Take care of yourself. And don’t forget the delivery tonight.”

“I won’t,” she promised. “I’ll even make up another pot of soup this afternoon to take over.”

“You’re the best,” Bilbo replied, and slid into the front passenger seat.

“Farewell, Primula,” Gandalf said kindly, and got behind the wheel.

They were off. 

.

It would take three hours and a bit to get to the city of Duluth, and Gandalf tuned in to Minnesota Public Radio as they headed north on 15 toward the Twin Cities. Bilbo listened as commentators discussed the dragon’s movements and wondered aloud what it was doing in Minnesota, of all places. As their route took them further north, they joined the mass of traffic on the freeway bypass around the metro area and caught I-35. 

Bilbo re-read bits of his journal, looking for potential answers. Without knowing, precisely, why the dragon had targeted the Iron Range, it was difficult to say. Traditionally, dragons were known to be attracted to precious metals such as gold, or precious gemstones. As far as Bilbo knew, none of those things had been discovered in the Range.

In fact, the area the dragon seemed to be heading for was best known for taconite and jasper, both fairly common, but useful. Bilbo started scrolling through information about the area on his iPhone as they passed Forest Lake, reading about the Range in general.

“Gandalf,” Bilbo asked, contemplative, “who runs the taconite facilities in Mountain Iron?”

“Ah, that would be Erebor, Inc., run by Thorin Oakenshield and his family,” Gandalf replied. “They’re dwarves, immigrants from the original Erebor. Dwarves are excellent with mining and mining facilities.” 

“Of course,” Bilbo said, thinking hard. “And dwarves are also known for the one thing nearly guaranteed to bring a dragon about.”

“What’s that?”

“Greed.” Bilbo cleared his throat. “Most known hoards had precious metal and jewels, but more importantly, their original owners were known for acquiring such things, to the detriment of others. Greed was the overall motivation, as far as we’ve found, and the dragon swept in and stole the hoard. With great effort, a dragon could be killed, and hoard reclaimed, but it was always subject to further attraction if it wasn’t dispersed somehow. Preferably for the greater good of others.”

“Interesting,” Gandalf said. With both hands on the steering wheel, he couldn’t stroke his beard, but he looked like he wanted to. “But as far as I know, there’s no such hoard there. And Oakenshield, himself, is known for his philanthropy.”

“I guess we’ll see what we can see when we get there,” Bilbo said. He opened his journal to a fresh page, and wrote:

 

_ Where has this dragon been? _

_ Why has it come to the Iron Range? _

_ How can we get it to move on? (If necessary.) _

 

Bilbo looked up, tapping his pen against his lip as he watched the landscape rush by, transforming from rolling green fields to lush pine forest. “The other real question is where the dragon came from, and if he or she is the only one. I know that I posited that the dragons simply hid as our global economy changed from one based in precious metals and gemstones to one backed by trust in government. There’s still Fort Knox and other sources of gold to back the economy up, of course, but it’s held collectively, rather than by an individual.” 

Bilbo thought again for a moment, then continued.

“It does make me wonder if individual greed--in effect, individual hoarding--is a precondition for attracting a dragon.”

Gandalf glanced at Bilbo, then looked back to the road. “And again, we know of no hoards further north.”   
“No, but a hoard, by definition, wouldn’t be a commonly known thing,” Bilbo countered. “And there are other metals in the Range.”

“Hmmm.” Gandalf hummed noncommittally, then cleared his throat, pressing a button on the dash. “Siri, call Thorin Oakenshield.”

“Calling, Thorin Oakenshield,” the smooth woman’s voice intoned peacefully, then the call was put through. It ran straight to voicemail, and Gandalf’s eyebrows rose. 

“That’s unusual,” he said. “Thorin nearly always picks up when he sees my call.”

“It’s possible that there’s no signal up here,” Bilbo looked at his own phone. “I’ve only got one bar, myself.”

“The sooner we get in touch with Thorin, the happier I’ll be,” Gandalf confessed. “I can only think of one individual in Range who might meet your standard for greed and hide some sort of hoard, and Thorin will want to know immediately.”

“Why’s that?” Bilbo inquired.

“It’s his grandfather.”

 


End file.
